My heart was heavy by the time we arrived home that evening. I should be happy after having such a magnificent dinner with Calix, but I'm not. How can I be happy when I know Kalyope is lying in bed just waiting for death to come find her? I'm full of anxiety just thinking about how valuable each second is; knowing that every second that I'm not successfully making advancements towards finding Kalyope a new heart is a wasted second.
After we had made it inside the house, mother said she was going to make popcorn. Apparently, she's still hungry after eating McDonald's. I was too emotionally drained for snack food, so I went to bed. I lie under the thick blankets, listlessly watching the red numbers of the digital clock tick by, unable to fall asleep. It's obvious that I won't be falling asleep anytime soon. With a huff, I throw the blankets off of me and reach for my wheelchair, pulling it alongside the bed. It takes me a good five minutes to ease off the bed, dragging my unwilling legs behind me, and slide onto my chair. The whole process leaves me out of breath; I'm still getting the hang of it, but I'm glad I've come to the point where I don't always have to rely on someone to help me.
It's hard to believe that it's been five months since the accident. I barely remember a life without this chair. In some ways, the last five months have gone by agonizingly slow, but at the same time it feels like it's flown by. The weeks after the accident, I would have frequent dreams where I'd be running through a forest or along the shoreline—waking up to the harsh reality that it was just a dream was always heartbreaking—but those dreams don't occur anymore. I wonder if that's because my subconscious has accepted this life and such fantasies can no longer change any of that.
I turn my wheels in the direction of the French doors and proceed to The Bluff. I don't know what I'm hoping for; Aurora wasn't there the last time. What if she never comes back? My heartbeat spikes at the thought.
As I make it to the summit of The Bluff, my hopes crash to the earth—there's no sign of Aurora anywhere. The only movement in sight is from the oak tree shedding its autumn leaves. I guess I shouldn't have expected anything less. My words to her were pretty harsh the last time we spoke.
I sit in silence and contemplate Kaylyope's fate. How am I going to do this? I know nothing about heart transplants. I don't know where to get a heart. I don't even know where the waiting list is. How do I contact a donor? How can I be certain that Kalyope's body won't reject the new heart even if I do find her one? This is starting to seem more impossible with each progressing thought. Maybe I'm in over my head? But no! I can't give up. I don't wanna look back a year from now with regret, wishing that I would have at least tried. I can't have another friend die!
"Bestie?" My heart leaps at the sound of that voice. I jerk my head around—Aurora is standing behind me.
"Rora!" I shove my wheels toward her, practically crashing into her. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said before. Don't ever leave me again." I curl my arms around her waist, hugging tightly. "I missed you."
She lowers her chin on top of my head. "I missed you, too, Bestie."
We part and she takes a seat on the grass beside my chair. I fill her in on the events of the last few days. She gets all giddy as I tell her about the candlelight dinner that Calix had planned for us, then becomes sad when I tell her about Kalyope and her grave fate.
"And you think you can pull this off?" she says after I had finished explaining everything.
"I don't know. I've never done something like this before . But it just feels wrong moving on with my life forgetting that I ever met her."
She pokes her finger in between each of my wheel spokes. "Well, if there's anyone who can do it, it's you, Bestie."
"I hope you're right."
I'd spent the last several months with no other goal on my mind than to get out of this chair. As difficult of a task as that's proven to be, I now face a real challenge—saving a life.
And I don't have much time to complete it.
* * *
The next day I watch the sun rise from The Bluff, mentally assessing what I need to do, then head straight to the kitchen for supplies. Mother is already awake drinking coffee on a bar stool by the time I roll in to the kitchen.
"Mornin', sweetie."
"Hi, mom. Bye, mom." I roll on by her and into the walk-in pantry. I grab what I need: a large pitcher, lemons, sugar, and a bag of disposable Dixie cups, piling them high on my lap. It takes skill to back my wheelchair out of the pantry and navigate through the front door without spilling everything.
"McKenzie, what on earth are you doing?" mother says. The last thing I want to do is explain my crazed plan to her, because she'll no doubt tell me that it is indeed a "crazed plan".
"Just a little project, mom. Nothing to worry about." I feel like slapping myself after saying that. Nothing screams suspicious activity more than someone saying the words "nothing to worry about". Surprisingly enough, she doesn't press the issue, and I make it outside without further conversation.
I get busy mixing the ingredients to the correct ratio. When I thought up this plan late last night, I knew in the back of my mind that this by itself wasn't going to be enough to help Kalyope, but what else could I do? I have to get a heart somehow. So I made the decision that I would raise money and buy one. And what better way to do it than the old fashion way?
"Lemonade for sale!" My voice carries throughout the quiet suburban street. I shout those same words a half a dozen more times as the hours elapse, but not a single customer comes by.
This idea is already starting to turn sour.
What more can I do? I have a professional looking setup. Okay, I have a mediocre looking setup. I have a white tablecloth sprinkled with a sunflower pattern, a sturdy table beneath it, topped with a tasty display of homemade lemonade. I even spent five minutes making a cute little sign, which reads:
Lemonade for $1 :)
So why isn't anyone coming?
Footsteps approach, and I think for a second that maybe I have a customer. But to my dismay, it's just father walking from behind me. He saunters over, both hands stuffed inside his suit pants pocket, not saying a word. I glance up at him and smile, one that's lacking enthusiasm. "Hi, daddy."
"Felt like being an entrepreneur today?"
I shrug. "Thought I'd give it a try." A pause. "Bad idea."
He sits down on the sidewalk next to my chair, lowering himself gently. I can see an amused smirk on his face. "And what's got us so motivated, hmm?"
Should I clue him in on my true intentions? It might seem less insane me being out here alone trying to peddle homemade lemonade if I do. "There's this girl that I met recently," I begin slowly. "She's sick."
"Sick?" He withdraws his hands from his pockets and brings his knees in close to his chest, resting his hands on top.
"She needs a heart transplant. She'll die if she doesn't get one soon." My voice increases with passion. "Like, real soon."
"And so you thought she could use a glass of lemonade?" I can see that he isn't catching on.
I tilt my head back, letting out a dramatic moan. "No, dad. No. I'm selling lemonade so I can raise enough money to buy her a new heart." He chuckles, stroking the three days worth of stubble on his chin. I'm somewhat hurt that he's making fun of my heartfelt endeavor. "Why are you laughing?"
He slips a callused hand inside of mine. "Baby, buying an organ is a felony." I feel my cheeks immediately burn with embarrassment.
I grumble inward.
That's great. Just great. A roadblock that I desperately do not need.
"Then how am I supposed to get her a heart? There's no telling how low she may be on the donor list. She can't wait for that unlikely miracle!"
He reaches into his wallet and lays a crinkled one dollar bill on the table. "I dunno, Kenzie." He takes a sip of lemonade. "But if there's a way, then I have no doubt that you'll find it." He gives me a blue-eyed wink before heading back inside the house.
* * *
Butterflies. I hate butterflies. Not the little winged creatures; the dumbbell kind, especially when Desiree is looming over me, making sure my form is perfect. However, I can't deny that her brutal exercise routine doesn't yield results, because it does. My arms are leaner and more toned than they've ever been. Though, it's tough to get too excited. My legs are still these skinny little things, devoid of nutrition.
After the final rep, I pass the ten-pound dumbbell off to Desiree. She looks me over with concern. "Something wrong, dear? You haven't said much all day."
I decide to tell her about Kalyope and my unrealistic desire to help her. Maybe she can give me some insight?
"Hmm," she says after I finish my story. She sets the dumbbell on the rack next to the others. "You've certainly got your work cut out for you. Does this friend of yours know that you wish to do this for her?"
"No. I only met her two days ago."
"Ah. I see." She folds her arms over her chest and leans against the rack of weights. "Well, the first thing you should know is that the recipient of a transplant must have the same blood type. If your friend has a rare blood type, then that slashes the likelihood of them being a positive recipient by a large percentage. May I ask what the transplant is?"
"Heart." She makes a fishy face with her lips as she thinks. Meanwhile, I'm feeling more discouraged about the whole endeavor. "Doesn't sound possible anymore," I say. "Not that it ever did sound possible in the first place."
Desiree tilts her head from side to side. "Maybe. Maybe not. Have you spoken to Benjamin Trout, the hospital's forerunner monetary donor?"
"I recall seeing that name in passing. Is he the one at the top of that marble slab out front?"
She nods. "A lot of clout that one has. Perhaps he can help you. And you're in luck; he'll be at the hospital this weekend for his annual visitation."
"Annual visitation?"
She hands me the dumbbell again, a silent implication that break time is over. "It's when he visits some of the sick kids; brings them teddy bears, autographed baseball cards, that kind of thing."
It sounds like this Benjamin Trout guy has a big heart and a soft spot for children. But can he help me push Kalyope up the donor list?
I guess there's only one way to find out.
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